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Murder for Fun Log [Action][Closed]
A crash of glass announced Ted's pursuit of Everglade's latest murderer, which is like saying a cloud's latest raindrop. Thank goodness the villains have variety, or Ted might be tempted towards depression.
He's too caught up in the chase to pay the vanity of his job much thought. He winds his way through the city streets, black threads darting all around buildings, even through the very cracks of bricks themselves to bind his mark.
It's a thoroughly annoying journey, for the werewolf, canine and four-legged in form, seems to always elude him. It had a black and hazy outline, and whenever one of Ted's blacker threads whips or snakes at it, it seems to disperse, if not mold into the shadows altogether. Was there some mystic helping him, or was it a magic werewolf? Things can't ever be easy, can they?
Still, Ted's persistent and focused. So focused, in fact, that he doesn't know he's being led into the woods outside of town. Before he knows it, he's in a grim copse of trees with the grave air of corpses.
A deep, bestial voice rings out from among the trees.
"Fell right into my trap, fresh meat. I've been waiting for worthy prey; it gets so damn dull, slaughtering the weak. Even if their screams do spice things up a bit."
Ted clenches his fists, spreads his threads, and reminds himself that killing isn't what he's here for. Got to recoup the cost of bribing his informants somehow, right?
"There's a strange scent on you. Not human. What?"
A shadowy lunge from the thicket darts out as Ted instinctively leaps away. As he's come to expect from werewolf kind, they're fast. More attacks dart out from elsewhere, and he hops back again and again.
"You thought I was alone? Fool; my kind always hunt in packs!"
It seemed there were many foes to fight, yet all seemed to lack the solidity of his primary target. Sorcery, Ted guessed. He's been around it's like before. It seemed his mark was mystical after all. Just what he needed. He might as well indulge the banter, if only perk up the joylessness.
"Then I hope for your sake jail--a kennel, to you--is big enough, else I'll put you down like the mongrel you are!"
A guttural growl and a blood-curdling howl cried out to the full moon as their contest began.
He's too caught up in the chase to pay the vanity of his job much thought. He winds his way through the city streets, black threads darting all around buildings, even through the very cracks of bricks themselves to bind his mark.
It's a thoroughly annoying journey, for the werewolf, canine and four-legged in form, seems to always elude him. It had a black and hazy outline, and whenever one of Ted's blacker threads whips or snakes at it, it seems to disperse, if not mold into the shadows altogether. Was there some mystic helping him, or was it a magic werewolf? Things can't ever be easy, can they?
Still, Ted's persistent and focused. So focused, in fact, that he doesn't know he's being led into the woods outside of town. Before he knows it, he's in a grim copse of trees with the grave air of corpses.
A deep, bestial voice rings out from among the trees.
"Fell right into my trap, fresh meat. I've been waiting for worthy prey; it gets so damn dull, slaughtering the weak. Even if their screams do spice things up a bit."
Ted clenches his fists, spreads his threads, and reminds himself that killing isn't what he's here for. Got to recoup the cost of bribing his informants somehow, right?
"There's a strange scent on you. Not human. What?"
A shadowy lunge from the thicket darts out as Ted instinctively leaps away. As he's come to expect from werewolf kind, they're fast. More attacks dart out from elsewhere, and he hops back again and again.
"You thought I was alone? Fool; my kind always hunt in packs!"
It seemed there were many foes to fight, yet all seemed to lack the solidity of his primary target. Sorcery, Ted guessed. He's been around it's like before. It seemed his mark was mystical after all. Just what he needed. He might as well indulge the banter, if only perk up the joylessness.
"Then I hope for your sake jail--a kennel, to you--is big enough, else I'll put you down like the mongrel you are!"
A guttural growl and a blood-curdling howl cried out to the full moon as their contest began.